


Past Perfect

by Cephy



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Best Friends, Birthday, Gen, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Yuri's birthday, and Flynn is feeling nostalgic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kay (sincere)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincere/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Future Tense](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7299) by Kay. 



On Yuri's birthday, Flynn woke up restless. He'd dreamed-- something. Something more feeling than image, just warmth and happiness and an impression of wind in his hair. A feeling that his mind automatically assigned the identity of _Yuri_ in the way that dreams did. The feeling was so strong that when Flynn's eyes opened he was startled not to find Yuri sitting in the windowframe across the room, perched with one leg up and a slouch in his shoulders.

The restless feeling stayed with Flynn through his morning meetings and made him pick distractedly at his brunch, while Sodia gave him sidelong looks she probably thought he didn't notice. He finally gave up halfway through drills, when he caught himself staring more at the wall than the knights he was supposed to be supervising. With a sigh he dismissed his attendants, and politely but firmly suggested that his remaining appointments be rescheduled for the next day.

He'd been running into Yuri a lot lately. That was probably why. Funny how they saw each other more often now than when they'd both been living in the same city, but he supposed they weren't actively avoiding each other anymore either. There was also the bleak tension that smothered the city and crept through the ranks, the constant wondering if any of them were going to be alive tomorrow-- the constant wondering if Yuri was still alive _now_. And there were the conversations with Hanks and the others, which always managed to come back around to Yuri at some point.

Everything seemed to come back around to Yuri these days. Find something that Yuri had absolutely no business being involved in and sure enough, there he was. Even when he wasn't actually in the room, there were moments that Flynn couldn't manage to think of anything else.

He went back to his room alone and put on his least ostentatious clothes-- which wasn't saying much, he was pretty sure someone had gone through his wardrobe after his promotion and thrown out anything _unsuitable_ to his new station. He left off his armour, at least, although that felt just as bizarre at first as it always did. It was telling of just how long he'd been living that life, that he felt naked without so many pounds of metal on his shoulders.

He worked his way by memory through the merchant's quarter, stopping along the way to buy a pastry from one of the carts. It was the kind of thing they'd always eyed when they were kids but had never been able to justify buying even on a birthday, sweet and flaky and heavy in the center with some kind of cream. He'd definitely had better at some of the formal dinners he'd been made to attend recently, but there was something about it that made it infinitely more satisfying.

He stopped at half. The remaining half was wrapped carefully in a kerchief and tucked in his pocket, despite the little voice in the back of his head calling him a sentimental idiot. Unsurprisingly, the voice sounded like Yuri.

The bridge wasn't hard to find-- he'd spent enough time there for those particular angles of stone to imprint themselves indelibly on his mind. He had to stand for a while and consider the best way to make the final approach, though; it had been much simpler when he was younger. The narrow space between the bridge abutments and the nearest wall was almost too small to admit him now. He just barely managed to wedge himself around the corner and down, ducking his head as he moved forward.

It was dirtier than he remembered. Plainer. The sharp corners of the odd little space didn't hide any deep, exciting caverns; they were just corners, and all the shadows were dull grey. The water raining from the street drains created a creeping dull moss on the stones, and the channel it all drained into was just a tiny little trickle lined by tufts of wiry grass.

Flynn still sat himself down on the biggest rock and spent a while just-- looking. He tried in vain to see the scratches where they'd attempted to carve their names into the hard stone. He counted the tiny frogs with just their eyes above the water, and remembered a scrawny kid with wild black hair chasing them with hands outstretched. He grinned. "Happy birthday, Yuri."

He wondered what Yuri was doing at that moment. Wondered if Yuri had found some special place to spend his birthday-- some secret corner of Dahngrest, maybe, or one of Torim's famous taverns-- or whether he bothered even remembering that old tradition anymore. Flynn wanted to believe he would remember. Even with everything that had happened after, the good memories didn't stop being good.

A clattering racket from the ledge above startled Flynn out of his thoughts, making him jerk up and crack his head sharply against the stone. When he blinked his eyes clear of the resulting sparks he was greeted by the sight of two ragged children on the other side of the little ditch. They'd stopped dead at the sight of him. Though he didn't recognize them they were obviously from the lower quarter, their clothes mostly clean but nearly worn through at the knees and elbows. One of them stood just a little in front of the other, protectively, and her wide grey eyes were equal parts fierce and wary. 

Flynn smiled at them gently. Not even needing the prompts of the Yuri-voice at the back of his mind, he took out that last half of the pastry and set it on the rock beside him, before moving as gracefully as he could to leave.

Back on the street, he earned a few curious and somewhat scandalized glances as he pulled himself upright. His trousers were hopelessly scuffed at the knees and he was pretty sure he'd managed to smear mud up one sleeve. He probably looked ridiculous; if anyone recognized him here there were sure to be repercussions later on.

He wasn't sure he cared.

He didn't know where he stood with Yuri. He hadn't since the day Yuri walked out the door and left his uniform-- left _Flynn_ \-- behind. There had been a lot of words, and a lot of silence, between them since that day. But-- the good memories didn't stop being good. Flynn wasn't entirely surprised to realize that he missed his best friend-- missed the days when Yuri had _been_ his best friend. Yes, a lot had happened since then, and yes, things would never be quite the same, but maybe once all of this mess was over and the world was safe again, they could still work on mending things between them.

They would have that chance, they _would_ ; they could win. He had to believe that.

Flynn tipped up his chin and looked at the sky, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly while he rolled his neck. He turned his steps back towards the royal quarter feeling far better, far more _settled_ than he had earlier. As he walked he made an impulsive mental note to schedule the afternoon off on his own birthday, still months away.

Just in case.


End file.
